The Concept of Life
by Georgiana Lockett
Summary: A brother-sister relationship develops between Sybil and Matthew. Their thoughts and feelings as told to each other, and their lives after the war. Pretty much AU after S2 E4. Sybil/Branson and Matthew/Mary
1. A Downton Death

Finally, the war had ended. They had all thought that when war was finally over, they would be able to celebrate its ending, but that was now not possible. It almost seemed as if Downton Abbey would never be able to celebrate again.

The shadow of death hung over the house.

William was dead, shot down dead during the last month of war with the name of his sweetheart on his dying lips.

_Daisy._

Downstairs, Daisy felt as if it was she that was being carved up for dinner. She knew that she could never escape the fact that she had never loved William, and although it was irrational, she felt guilty for it. How could she not have loved that dear, sweet boy who had gone to war willingly and died for his country? She should have loved him, but she never had; and the guilt of this was tearing her apart. Her only consolation was that he had died believing she loved him, and she could only hope that that had been enough.

The whole house was stunned into silence by the terrible event. The staff tried, for Daisy's sake, to continue normally, but they were shaken. Carson and Mrs Hughes visibly struggled to retain their composure; Mrs Patmore sobbed into the roast chicken when she thought nobody saw and Anna couldn't prevent the tears from emerging despite the presence of her beloved Mr Bates. Even Thomas and O'Brien were subdued.

Upstairs, despite the sadness for their lost footman, the relief that it wasn't Matthew was almost palpable. It was something that Mary couldn't stop repeating to herself: _He's alive. _She could live; she could learn to move on if she knew that somewhere he was alive and happy, even if it meant that he was happy with someone else. And as it happened, tonight he was coming to dinner and bringing Lavinia with him, and she was determined to be pleased for him. After all that he had been through, he at least deserved that. Anyway, Sir Richard Carlisle would also be there and it was important to give him a favourable impression.

A decidedly red-eyed Anna came to help Mary dress for dinner; forcing Mary to reflect more sombrely on the end of the war. Not everyone was lucky enough to come back alive. Not every woman was lucky enough to have her love come back alive. The thought of that poor kitchen maid downstairs (Daisy, wasn't it?) brought Mary out of her reverie. Yes, she was lucky that Matthew was alive. She couldn't ask for more than that.

Meanwhile, in another room down the hall, Sybil sighed at herself as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Tonight would be another one of those awkward mealtimes because Branson would be serving as a footman since they had outside guests. She knew without doubt that she would spend the entire dinner trying to concentrate on not looking in his direction. It had always been so easy before to pretend that the footmen were invisible at dinner, but with Branson it seemed as if all the boundaries were blurred. She still couldn't work out quite how she felt about him, but she knew in her heart that it was a far stronger affection than the laws of propriety would allow an earl's daughter to have for the family chauffeur. She shook her head to banish all thoughts of him. She would pretend, just for one night, that there was nothing between them. She would have to pretend.

It was an hour later, and the family was assembled along with Sir Richard Carlisle, waiting only for Matthew, Lavinia and Isobel. Mary's heart was pounding so desperately when Carson entered and announced Matthew's name that for a moment she didn't notice the change in the room's atmosphere, the reason why everyone suddenly sat up a little straighter and stared at the door with interest. Matthew and his mother came in dressed in their best, and it was then that Mary noticed. No Lavinia. And was she just imagining things, or did she detect a certain sadness in Matthew's manner?

It was Violet who broke the silence.

"And wherever is Miss Swire? Not ill, I hope?" she said and smiled with polite acidity.

Matthew's face was almost expressionless.

"I thought it best, under the circumstances, not to bring her along to dinner," he told Violet. "I apologise for not giving more warning of her absence."

Violet seemed about to speak, but Robert interrupted: "Don't mind about that, my dear boy, but is everything alright? And under what circumstances?"

Matthew looked down to the floor for a moment, as if to gather courage, and Mary felt as if all breath was rapidly deserting her body.

Then Matthew looked up, and his honest eyes were filled with disappointment. "I have broken off the engagement between myself and Miss Swire. It would seem that during the last few months of my absence she has reaffirmed an old attatchment, shall we say, for a former friend of her family, and she wished to be released from our engagement. I believe she is to marry this friend in the spring."

Mary hardly heard her father's consoling words, or saw her mother and grandmother's knowing smiles in her direction. All she could think about was hope. She decided in that moment that she wouldn't accept Sir Richard's proposal; she would win Matthew over again, try her best to make him love her if she could. She would never let him go again if she could help it. She could never be herself without him; she could never be happy without him. And if he was free, she could try to make him hers again.

For the first time since his entrance, Matthew allowed himself to meet Mary's eyes. The truth was that he had been relieved to have a valid reason to break off his engagement, as he loved Mary and had known it ever since the day of the concert when he had walked into the room and seen her face, and felt as if he was flying with happiness. The truth was that he never felt complete without her by his side. The truth was that just looking at her now, like this, even from across a room full of her family, made him want to run to her and take her in his arms and never let her go. But how to know if she felt the same? Who knew what lay beneath that calm exterior?

Sybil couldn't help herself. She had begun to view Matthew as the brother she had never had, and she knew he thought of her as a sister. He was the one person she wanted to tell about Branson; about the confusion that he made her feel. She couldn't tell her parents or Edith, much less her grandmother, and Mary was appalled at what she already did know. She'd probably die of shock if she knew that Sybil was actually considering her feelings towards the chauffeur. Matthew was the only one she could tell.

Matthew was thinking the same thing. Sybil was the closest sister to Mary, she was the most likely to know if Mary felt the same way. He could talk to Sybil, he could explain his feelings to her and trust that she would never tell. She would help him. He felt, for the first time in a long time, that everything was going to work out alright.

Robert was saying something to him in a murmur.

"If you need anything to help you get through it, I'll be here."

Matthew looked at this man who had become his father figure.

"Thank you. For everything." The sincerity in his voice was clear as a bell.

Embarrassed, Robert told him "I've done nothing. If you've got through so far, it's all down to you."

"That's where you're wrong. I couldn't have got through anything without you, without any of you," Matthew replied, looking round the room. "The war was long and hard, but I survived. And it's down to you all for giving me the strength to carry on fighting, and to Mary, for this," and he held up the toy dog she had given him, that he always kept with him. "Others didn't have the luck that I had." They were all silent for a moment, thinking of William.

"The concept of life is to draw from the strength of others to carry on living. Just something that one of the officers used to say," and he shrugged.

The sentence hung in the air, the truth of it filling the hearts of everyone in the room. The concept of life... And for now, Matthew was back and he was the strong one. Now that he was here, they could all carry on. Nothing really mattered but that. For now.


	2. Beginnings

Matthew was out walking. Last night's dinner at Downton had been rather interesting, and it had been good to be able to talk with Robert again, but he was horrified that Mary actually seemed to intend to marry Sir Richard Carlisle. How could she possibly even think of marrying such an awful man? It wasn't that Matthew had a specific dislike for newspaper men, but there was something about Sir Richard that he couldn't stand, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that made him hate the man so much. He was surprised at himself; it wasn't often that Matthew developed a spontaneous and unreasonable hate for someone he barely knew. In fact, as far as he could recall, it had never happened before. But there was just one word to describe Sir Richard and that was _odious._

He took a few steps around the corner and came across a slender, dark-haired figure seated on a bench in the outer reaches of Downton's parkland, her back to where he stood. For a split second he thought she was Mary, and his heart raced. But she wasn't, of course she wasn't. He felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief when he realised this, but then he saw that it was Sybil and he smiled, remembering his silent promise to himself the previous night. _He could explain his feelings to her and trust that she would never tell. _

"Cousin Sybil!" he called out and watched her turn at the sound of her name.

She looked startled to see him.

"Oh, Cousin Matthew," and for a moment he thought he had disturbed her silence and wished that he could go away again, but then she smiled and he knew she didn't mind.

She smiled the same smile that Branson was thinking of at that very moment, the same smile that made Branson's heart beat just that little bit faster every time he saw it. But Matthew didn't know that. To him, it was just a smile.

"What brings you here?" Matthew asked as he approached.

"Fresh air and the need for some thinking time," Sybil murmured, gesturing for him to sit beside her.

Matthew hesitated.

"You're sure I won't be a nuisance?"

Sybil flashed that smile again. "Of course I am, you could never be a nuisance," she told him warmly. "I'm just glad you're back safe."

He sat down.

"I'm not sure. Sometimes it's harder to be the survivor."

She laid a hand on his arm; and for several minutes, neither of them said anything. Silence prevailed, as two people from very different backgrounds, very different lives, sat together and said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

It was Sybil who broke the silence.

"Cousin Matthew?"

He turned to her, eyes swimming with deep thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you something? Only I don't see who else I could tell," and she paused, watching his face.

He beamed encouragingly. "Certainly, you can tell me anything."

"You must promise not to tell a soul."

The look he gave her was filled with doubt, but she hastily interjected with "Don't worry, it's nothing bad, I promise; I just don't think the others would approve."

Matthew nodded, trusting her judgement.

"I won't tell a soul," he promised.

She took a deep breath.

"To be perfectly honest, I hardly know where to begin."

"The beginning?" he suggested, the hint of a mirthful smirk present on his face.

Sybil rolled her eyes, and decided she would simply have to spit it out, before she regretted it.

"Well...you know Branson, don't you?"

Matthew was puzzled. "The chauffeur?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't say I know the man, but I know_ of_ him. Why do you ask?"

"He loves me and he wants us to run away together."

Matthew blinked. "What?"

"Don't judge him before you know anything about it," Sybil warned. "He's well aware that if we run away together, there won't even be a penny. He loves me and he's offered me marriage; it's perfectly respectable."

"I don't doubt that it is, it's just - " Matthew paused for a second, unsure where his train of thought was heading. He thought of Branson, the socialist chauffeur, unabashedly professing undying love to the daughter of an earl, someone who's very way of life ought to have conflicted sharply with his own. It made Matthew feel ashamed of himself. Why couldn't he just tell Mary how he felt?

"Just what?" He could tell from her tone that Sybil was confidently expecting him to be outraged.

"It's just that I didn't think he had it in him, that's all," Matthew grinned.

Sybil's whole face softened. "Well, he certainly does. He's frightfully sure of himself."

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Sure of yourself?"

That smile instantly fell from Sybil's face. "No, I'm not. I wish I was, but I'm not. I don't know what to feel."

Matthew nodded. "So you haven't decided your answer?"

"No, not yet. I keep going around in circles. On the one hand, he makes everything sound so easy and perfect that I could run away with him tomorrow, but then there's my family, and he's just the chauffeur, and it's just so wrong, and I don't know what to do or think or feel..." She trailed off, eyes staring distantly. When she spoke again, her voice was the lightest thread of sound, and Matthew had to dip his head closer to her in order to hear. "It's all such a mess. I'm so confused."

"I presume you haven't talked to your family about it?"

Sybil hesitated. "I told Mary some, but then I had to because she caught me talking to him one day by the car... She only knows what he's said to me, though. She has no idea that I'm actually considering... And none of the others know anything at all, and you mustn't tell them. He could lose his job if Papa finds out."

Matthew nodded again. "I won't say a word."

There was a momentary lull in coversation, until Sybil said "What do you think I should do?"

"I can't tell you that," was Matthew's reply. "You have to decide on your own. It might take time, but no-one can decide something like that for you. You have to decide yourself."

She sighed. "I know, and that's what makes it so hard."

Once again, silence was prevalent.

She turned to him. "Thank you, Matthew."

"That's alright."

"You can talk to me about... about Lavinia and things, if you wish."

Matthew looked at her. Here was his chance, his golden oppurtunity, to tell her all. He could feel his secret feelings burning on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released. He could feel his own need to talk about Mary, and Lavinia, and the complicated mess his love life had become. And who better to talk to than Sybil?

He blinked, and made his decision. He opened his mouth and began to tell her.


	3. Secrets

It had been a month since the extremely frank conversation between her and Matthew, and Sybil had never felt less alone. Since their talk, they had spoken on numerous occasions, and Matthew had done much to allay her fears, as she hoped she had allayed his. She had done her best to discover the feelings of her sister towards him without asking outright, and had found it surprisingly simple. It seemed that Mary; cold, calculating Mary; was beginning to lay bare her heart, slowly but surely, to all who wanted to read it. Her feelings towards Matthew were present in every glance, every smile, every turn of her head. However, Sybil had a strange, inexpressible feeling that there was something holding Mary back, some sinister, hidden factor that she could never guess.

As for Sybil herself, she still had no idea what to do about Branson. It was all so complicated. This was why Sybil had begun watching her sister so closely. She felt that if she invested as much time as possible in determining Mary's feelings for Matthew, she could distract herself from her own worries. The strategy worked to an extent. It certainly meant that she was able to force him from her mind during the day. But the problem was that at night, that same mind had other ideas. She dreamt of all the different scenarios, of what it would mean to run away with her father's chauffeur. At night, it seemed more than impossible to think of anything else. She was afraid of making any sort of decision one way or the other, and so did nothing. She was also afraid that her parents or Edith or - perhaps worst of all - Granny would guess that something odd was going on. She thought she could hardly mask her worry for much longer as she flinched a little every time his name was mentioned. Her father had only to say to Carson at the end of a dinner "The Dowager Countess is leaving, please have Branson bring the car round" and Sybil's stomach lurched. What was she to do about it? She would speak to Matthew again later, she decided.

She thought about Matthew. That day on the bench had been pivotal for them both. It was the first time either had admitted their problems to another person, and it was good to talk. Sybil could hardly comprehend Matthew's love for her sister. She had expected him to pour out his heart with sorrow over the loss of Lavinia, and had been suitably stunned when he told her that he loved Mary. Now she thought about it, it had always been obvious. There were hundreds of things he had said and done over the years, thousands of moments and glances that she had never really thought about. There was that ridiculous toy dog Matthew had clung to throughout the entire war, the toy dog that was Mary's. There was that time years earlier, back when Sybil had developed a pathetic crush on Matthew after he rescued her when she hit her head during that stupid count in Ripon. She had followed him round like a lost puppy, until she overheard her mother and grandmother talking and realised that Matthew had proposed to Mary that same night. Sybil's crush had lasted less than a week, but clearly Matthew's love for Mary had endured despite her refusal of his proposal.

Why had Mary refused? Sybil was certain Mary had too good a heart to refuse him just because of their mother's fleeting pregnancy, and was even more certain than before that there was some other element to all this.

It was then that Anna entered the room, coming to dress Sybil for breakfast.

"Good morning, my lady," she beamed.

"It is a very beautiful morning, Anna," and Sybil glanced over at the sun pouring through the window. "Is everything alright downstairs?"

"Yes, my lady, quite alright, thank you."

"Is Daisy alright?"

Anna hesitated before replying. "I'm not sure she'll ever be entirely alright, but she's as good as she can be under the circumstances."

"Good." Sybil paused, then began delicately "Is Mr. Bates well?" Everyone in the house knew of Anna's connection with Bates, and Sybil wished everything could be settled easily for them.

Anna blushed. "Yes, my lady, thank you for asking."

"Why was it that he went away before?" Sybil asked idly, not really too interested in the answer but trying to keep up the conversation.

To her surprise, Anna looked slightly shifty. "Oh, it wasn't important, my lady."

Anna wouldn't meet Sybil's eyes.

"What is it, Anna?"

"I can't tell you, my lady."

Sybil would have left it at that, if it hadn't been for Anna's furtive look at Sybil, which made her sure that this secret had something to do with the Crawleys.

"Anna, if it's something to do with my family, you must tell me."

Anna was distressed. "I can't, my lady, I made a promise..."

"To who?"

"To... to Her Ladyship and to... someone else."

"Someone else?"

"I really can't say, my lady."

Sybil thought for a moment. Which Crawley would be most likely to force Anna to keep a secret of such magnitude that she would be so distressed by it? Sybil thought she knew the answer.

"It wasn't Mary, was it?"

Anna flushed scarlet. Sybil took that as confirmation and thought for a moment, her mind rushing to make connections.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with why she refused Matthew's marriage proposal, would it?"

"I couldn't say, my lady..."

"What I don't understand is what this secret has to do with Bates going away."

"His wife threatened to... expose the secret unless he left."

"Expose? How did she know of it?"

Anna opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

"Anna?"

"We don't know how, but word seems to have spread round..."

"Well, where's the harm in telling me then? I'm her _sister_."

Anna hesitated, not for the first time.

"_Please_, Anna. I won't tell her you told me, I promise."

This was the first time Sybil had asked Anna for anything, and although Anna's principles screamed against breaking her promise, she knew in her heart that she could trust Lady Sybil.

"Well, my lady, do you remember a certain Mr. Pamuk?"

_Meanwhile..._

Matthew paused, before striding into the garage. Branson was bent over the car's engine, peering inside the open bonnet and muttering to himself.

Matthew watched for a moment, marvelling at the chauffeur's knowledge of engines. He sometimes wished he could do a manual job like this, especially since his return from the war. Sitting in an office all day made him feel increasingly restless.

"Ahem," he coughed, and Branson started.

"Sorry, Mr. Crawley, I didn't see you there."

"That's alright. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Is there something you were after, sir?"

"Actually, I came to have a word with you."

"With me?" Branson was astonished. He hadn't thought Mr. Crawley even registered his existence.

"Yes." Matthew stopped, momentarily lost for words, before beginning "It's actually in reference to Sybil."

Branson's eyes flared.

"What about her?" he demanded belligerently.

"Well, she told me what you said to her - no, let me finish - she told me what you said, and I thought I'd establish a few things. I didn't come here to judge you. If you love her and it's honourable, then you can propose to her and I'll wish you luck of it; but if you have other intentions, then I'm afraid you'll have to go through me."

Branson swallowed.

"I didn't realise she confided in you."

Something in the other man's tone puzzled Matthew, and then he realised what it was and laughed.

"You mustn't be jealous; there's nothing in it. We play brother and sister to each other, that's all. I'm part of her family."

Branson nodded, accepting the explanation.

"Well, you needn't worry. I would lay down my life to protect her. She's the only woman I've ever loved."

Matthew scrutinised his face and saw nothing but honesty. He remembered the day of that disastrous count in Ripon when he and Branson had taken Sybil back to Crawley House to recover, and even then how Branson had seemed genuinely concerned for her welfare rather than his job. He was about to mention it, and thought against it.

"You're a good man, Branson."

Branson relaxed, and smiled tentatively, almost eagerly.

"Then you won't tell His Lordship?"

Matthew grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He was about to turn away, when Branson called him back.

"Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes?"

"What... what do I do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"About Sybil. What do I do?"

"I think you'll have to work that one out."

"How?"

Matthew sighed. "I wish I knew, Branson. I wish I knew."


	4. In The Library

Sir Richard peered at the woman he had hoped to marry.

"Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"As sure as I'll ever be, I'm afraid."

There was silence. Mary tilted her head to one side, regarding him slowly.

"Well, then," he said, with a gallant attempt at a smile. "I guess I'll be going."

"Stay for luncheon, at least," Mary prompted, desperate not to appear as if she wanted him gone, although secretly she did.

"No, I think I'd better not, but thank you. Give my regards to your parents," and Sir Richard doffed his hat and smiled in a way that sent a shudder through Mary's body, though she didn't know why. There was something about it that could only be described as _sinister_.

He turned back, just as he was about to leave.

"May I ask you one thing?"

"Certainly," Mary smiled, wishing he would just hurry up and go.

"Is there someone else?"

Mary didn't answer, but blushed a painful scarlet.

"Of course not, don't be silly-" she began, but had barely moved her lips before he had crossed the library in three quick strides, grabbed her by the wrists and thrust his face only inches from her own. She could feel his breath on her cheek and tried to turn away, but he only jerked her back round to face him again.

"You know what I think?"

"No," Mary whispered, wondering whether to call for assistance.

"I think there _is_ someone else. I think there always has been someone else, right from the start. Only I think that this particular person was otherwise engaged, so to speak; only now he isn't and you think you have a shot at him. Can you guess who I mean?"

Mary struggled against him, trying to free her arms.

Sir Richard smiled that sinister smile again, as if Mary had just done something incredibly pleasing to him, and placed his face even closer, so that their lips almost touched.

"I'm talking about Matthew Crawley."

Sir Richard studied her for a moment, then let go of her so abruptly that she stumbled backwards and was forced to catch hold of the back of the couch to steady herself.

"You don't deny it, then?" He seemed astonished, as if he had never really expected his assertion to be true.

Mary was rubbing her wrists where the tight grip of his fingers had cut into her skin, as if to wipe away any trace of him.

"No, I don't deny it!" She sounded tearful and exhausted, and Matthew paused outside the library door. He had been about to borrow a book on farming that Robert had recommended when he heard Mary's outburst. Something in her voice made him stand there, ear to the door, listening.

"You don't?" Carlisle's tone - not that odious man _again_, Matthew thought - was somewhere between outrage and incredulity.

"No!" A sob escaped her before Mary choked it back with a sound like an animal being tortured. "I don't! I've loved Matthew for years, I probably even loved him before I realised I did, and he's the only man I would be happy spending the rest of my life with! You can rage at me all you like; but I happen to think that if there's even the smallest chance I might be happy with him then I ought to take it!" Mary broke off suddenly, breathless. The tears were flowing freely now.

"Well, I hope the two of you will be very happy!" Carlisle was almost shouting now, and both Matthew and Mary knew he hoped anything but. "But remember this, Mary" - and he lowered his voice, far too low for Matthew to hear through the door, though he tried - "as long as I walk this earth you will never be free of me, not ever. Do you understand, Mary?"

The threat hovered in the air between them. Mary looked him straight in the eyes.

"Just go, please. You've said enough."

There was a pregnant pause as both pairs of eyes locked. It was Sir Richard who broke away first.

"Alright, then. Remember to give my regards to your parents," and he inclined his head fleetingly and strode towards the door.

There was just enough time for Matthew to move away and act as if he was just leaving the drawing room. Carlisle burst out of the library with thunder set in his expression. He saw Matthew and his face tensed. The two men bowed stiffly to each other, the animosity palpable between them, electric tension flaring. Matthew swept past Carlisle graciously, and was out of the front door before the other man could speak.

He walked down the drive, wondering how exactly to deal with the revelation that Mary loved him. The key was Sybil, he decided. He would ask her how he should proceed.

Mary sat alone in the library, completely unaware that Matthew had heard every single word she had said.

It was about half an hour later that Sybil entered the library, with some political book to return for Branson. She didn't know why it was; but during the past few days Branson had been less insistent with her. He had been far more thoughtful, almost subdued. If she didn't know any better, she would think someone had spoken to him about her, given him some food for thought.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as she entered and caught sight of her eldest sister sat on the couch. "I didn't think anyone was..."

She trailed off as she realised that Mary was crying, silently but uncontrollably.

"Mary? What is it?"

Mary shook her head in despair, tears streaming. "There's no point telling you, there's nothing you can do to help me. There's nothing anyone can do to help me. I got myself into this mess, I'll get myself out."

Sybil hesitated before speaking. Once she began this conversation, there would be no backing out. _Here goes_, she thought, taking a deep breath. "This wouldn't have anything to do with... with Mr. Pamuk, would it?"

Mary's head snapped up, frantic. "How do you know about that? Who told you?"

"One of the patients at the hospital mentioned something, I forget who it was," Sybil lied. She hated lying, but she had to protect Anna.

"What?" Mary was appalled. "How did they know? Does _everyone_ know?"

"No, no, of course not," Sybil reassured her. "But word always spreads..."

Mary gazed into her lap. "I suppose it was wishful thinking to hope that it wouldn't, especially after Edith went and told the Turkish Ambassador."

"What?" Now it was Sybil's turn to be shocked.

"Oh yes, didn't you know that part?" and Mary laughed without humour. "We always were rivals; and I wouldn't have expected anything else of her."

"How did she find out?"

Mary shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. She found out somehow, and used the knowledge to start the rumours that will probably ruin me."

Sybil could think of nothing to say to that, nothing at all.

"And you..." Mary's expression was anxious, and inexpressibly sad.

"Me?"

"What must you think of me? I'm your eldest sister, you're supposed to be able to look up to me. How can you do that now? I'm just a... just a... slut." The word reverberated through the room for a moment, echoing in the minds of both women. "That's what Edith thinks I am. A slut."

"Well, I don't think that," Sybil announced defiantly, striding over to sit beside Mary and draping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You made a mistake, a stupid one admittedly, but it was a long time ago and happened only once. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. And don't listen to Edith, you know what she's like. You don't have to let it make you cry like this."

"Oh, that wasn't why I was crying," Mary said, wiping her eyes. The crying had stopped, just about.

Sybil looked at her, concerned. "Why, what else is there?"

"I've just done something terribly stupid, and now I can't take it back." For a moment Sybil thought Mary might start crying again, but Mary mastered herself.

"What is it? What have you done?" Sybil's imagination was running wild.

"I've told Sir Richard I can't marry him."

Sybil was about to reply, but Mary held up a hand.

"Wait, there's more. He asked me if... if it was because of Matthew."

"And what did you say?" Sybil tried to keep her tone neutral.

"I said yes, because it is the reason. And he stormed out, and then I realised..." Mary broke down and began to sob desperately.

"What did you realise?" Sybil prompted her sister.

"I realised that there was no point. Even if I thought for one minute that there was any chance Matthew might ask me again after last time, I couldn't accept him without telling him the truth. And how do I tell him that? He would hate me."

"That was why you refused him last time, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with Mama's baby."

"Exactly. And now I've blown my chance with Sir Richard, there's no one who'll want to marry me. Sybil, what do I do?"

Sybil sighed. "Well, if you love Matthew, there would be no point marrying Sir Richard or anyone else anyway. You'd spend your entire life being completely miserable. And as for Matthew, you can either say nothing, and refuse him if he asks you again; or you can tell him the truth."

"It's not that simple."

"Nothing ever is."

And Sybil rocked her sobbing sister slowly back and forth, back and forth, Mary holding onto her tightly as if she couldn't bear to let her go.


	5. The Proposal

It was a crisp morning in early February. The sun had risen brightly over the estate, but the icy grass of the lawn looked as though it had been dusted with icing sugar. The frost and chilling cold was so severe that despite the bright sunshine, the delivery man was huddled deep inside his coat as he arrived at Downton with the day's post.

The letter was already waiting for Mary when she came down for breakfast. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and her heart pounded frantically in her chest. There was no real reason for it, except for a strange feeling of dread that she couldn't explain. She stared at the envelope for a few moments, working herself up to opening it. Sybil glanced at her, concerned.

"Mary? Is everything alright?"

Robert looked up from his newspaper at his eldest daughter. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of fear in her face, but it was quickly masked and he had to wonder if he'd imagined it.

"Yes, thank you, Sybil darling. I'm just in a slight daze this morning, that's all," and Mary smiled unconvincingly at her youngest sister.

She quickly tore open the envelope and scanned through the letter before she could think better of it, and instantly regretted it. Her eyes swam, and certain phrases floated from the page and danced in her head:

_met with Carlisle...interesting story...deserve everything you get...Turkish gentleman...in all the newpapers...nothing but a harlot and a slut...promise it will be published soon..._

Mary felt a sudden sob choke her throat. She couldn't breathe; she had to escape.

"Excuse me," she said and stood, barrelling out of the room before her father could see her panic-stricken face. As she left, she thrust the letter at Sybil.

Sybil held the letter under the table where her father couldn't see and peeked at it contents. She glimpsed the signature at the bottom of the page and her throat constricted in anxiety.

_Vera Bates._

Matthew had, in all the drama of the day before, completely forgotten that the entire purpose of his going to Downton had been to borrow that book on farming that Robert had told him he really ought to read. And so it was that he found himself walking up to the big house for the second consecutive day, face muffled with a scarf against the biting cold. He was in the library, collecting the book and trying to get warm at the same time, when he heard someone run through the entrance hall and out of the house. Matthew frowned. The servants at Downton were usually far too aware of their positions to break into a run, even in the most dire of circumstances. Then he heard the same hurried footsteps run past the library window. Who could possibly be running outside in this awful weather?

He strode over to the window and peered out, feeling like a common busybody. _Maybe I have more of Mother in me than I thought_, he smiled.

The person he had heard was still now, standing just a little way down the path, clearly breathless. To his surprise, the figure was female, and when she turned, he saw that she was Mary.

His heart beat a little faster when he remembered her words yesterday. _I've loved Matthew for years, I probably even loved him before I realised I did, and he's the only man I would be happy spending the rest of my life with._ There was hope for him, after all! But why was she running in this cold? And wearing nothing more than a simple morning dress?Then he realised that her present breathlessness stemmed not only from her running, but from her emotional state. She was crying, and she had no coat in this cold. He had to go to her.

Mary was so preoccupied with trying to stem the sudden flow of tears that she barely noticed the cold, and certainly didn't register the sound of Matthew's footsteps behind her, crunching on gravel.

"Mary," he said gently, and laid a gloved hand on the bare skin of her arm.

She flinched in surprise, and hurriedly pulled her face into something resembling a smile.

"Matthew, I didn't see you there."

"You're freezing," and he whipped off his coat and gave it to her before she could protest.

"Matthew, I-"

"Just put the damn thing on before I change my mind," he murmured through gritted teeth. The cold really was horrendous, but at least he still had his jacket and gloves. _Don't shiver or let your teeth chatter, or she'll never take it._

Mary smiled through her tears, genuinely this time. Matthew rarely cursed, and when he did, it never failed to make her smile.

"Very well. Thank you," and she pulled it hastily around herself, pushing her icy hands as far into the voluminous pockets as they would go.

There was an awkward moment when they both tried to look anywhere but at the other, before Matthew offered her his arm. She gladly took it, although it made her feel more wretched. She felt like a fraud.

They strolled along the path towards the bench, a few yards away.

Matthew looked at Mary, at her beautiful, usually flawless, face, now red and blotchy with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked. There was no escaping the tenderness in his voice, and Mary's eyes once again threatened to brim over.

"Nothing," she said, and tried to smile reassuringly, but even as she spoke the tears fell.

"Something's clearly wrong."

"Maybe, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

"If you're upset about something, it's everything for me to worry about."

She was about to retort "I don't see why it should be", but realised that that could easily lead to an explanation which would make her cry more.

Instead, she said "It doesn't matter so very much really. It's not a big problem." How she hated telling Matthew a blatant lie like that, but there was no way she could ever tell him the truth.

"Mary, you know you can tell me anything," and he meant it, he wanted her to tell him everything.

"I know. But this is something silly."

"Nothing that makes you cry can possibly sound silly to me."

"Well, this is silly, regardless of you." That sounded somehow harsh, but it was too late to take it back.

Matthew paused. This line of conversation was clearly going nowhere. She was upset about something, and he knew Mary well enough to know that if she didn't want to tell him about it, then nothing and no-one would convince her otherwise. They had reached the bench now, and they both sat. Was it just his imagination, or was she sitting closer to him than usual? A little voice in the back of his mind whispered _Of course she's sitting closer than usual, she's upset and she loves you. You heard her yesterday. That's probably why she's upset, she thinks you don't feel the same. You have to tell her how you feel, before she goes back to Carlisle. _Matthew had no idea if the little voice was right, but he knew he had to try, especially after her speech in the library yesterday. He took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._

"Mary, I have something important I've been meaning to say to you."

Mary's heart hammered painfully. _Oh no, here comes the moment where I have to say no to him and break both our hearts._

"I'm listening," she said carefully, keeping her tone light and neutral.

Matthew rubbed his forehead.

"There's no easy way to say this, but I have to try. The thing is, I know it's always been tough between us. It's been strained ever since before the war when I proposed, and the reason is that although I spent the war engaged to Lavinia, there was still a part of me that always harboured these secret feelings for you. And I still do, I still" - with a breath - "love you. And I know you love me too, even if you won't admit it to my face." He broke off abruptly, glancing at her tearful expression, and wondered if he had said too much, too quickly. "Anyway," he finished, "I wanted to let you know that my offer of marriage still stands open, and will always be open for you whenever you decide you're ready to make that choice."

"Oh, Matthew, I can't" and her eyes flooded.

Matthew blinked. "But-"

"I just can't, Matthew." She was sobbing now. She wanted so much to be able to tell him that she loved him, but knew that if she ventured down that road, it would be her undoing. She had to give him something, though. But what to say?

"I hope we'll always be friends." _Far too feeble._ She laid a hand tentatively against his cheek, flushed with cold. He looked crushed.

"Of course we will." His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. Every hope he had had was dashed. Had she merely been lying to Carlisle in order to get rid of the evil man? She had to have been, it was clear she didn't really love him the way he had thought. _So this is what it means to be heartbroken._

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered. "I wish-" and she bit her lip.

Matthew looked at her.

"Nothing," she murmured. "I wish nothing." She reached across and patted his hand gently before standing up to leave. Matthew stood with her.

"Thank you for the coat, it was very kind of you," and she took it off and handed it back to him, forcing herself not to make a noise as the sudden shock of the cold hit her.

"You're welcome." Matthew sounded hoarse as he took the coat from her and put it back on himself. It smelled of her perfume. _Oh God, now you'll think of her every time you wear the coat. Damn her!_

"Goodbye then," Mary said, chafing her now freezing fingers together.

"Goodbye," he managed to croak, and then she was turning on her heel and walking away.

It was a Saturday, so Matthew had no work to occupy himself the rest of the day. His mother was out with Cousin Violet, probably arguing over some petty point or other. He sat alone in the house and moped.

"It was awful," he told Sybil when she came to call on him that afternoon. "She was crying, and wouldn't tell me what was wrong, so I arrogantly assumed it was because she was in love with me and didn't think I felt the same. I heard her tell Carlisle something to that effect yesterday, but it was clearly a malicious lie to get rid of him. She can't have meant it, or she wouldn't have said no." He rubbed his forehead. It felt like his head was splitting into two. "This is twice now. Twice I've proposed to her and I've ended up with a broken heart. I think it's time I let her go, because she clearly has no intention of ever marrying me, so why should I bother?" His voice cracked. Sybil thought he was about to cry but he quickly mastered himself.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching across and squeezing her hand gratefully. "I know she's your sister, and I shouldn't speak about her like this; and anyway I don't mean to bore you with my troubles. How's it going with Branson?"

"Never mind that," Sybil tutted briskly, although her heart hammered at the mere mention of his name. "Mary wasn't lying, she does love you. She really does. She told me as much."

"You don't have to protect me, I have to face the truth someday and I may as well do it today."

"I'm not protecting you, I'm telling the truth. The reason Mary won't accept your proposal is _because_ she loves you."

Matthew stared at her incredulously.

"That makes no sense."

Sybil sighed. _In for a penny, in for a pound._

"She knows if she married you, she would have to tell you the truth about herself, and that's something she can't do."

"The truth?" Matthew narrowed his eyes. "What ever do you mean? Are you going to tell me Mary was a changeling baby left on the doorstep by a travelling band of gypsies?"

Sybil laughed without humour.

"No, although I'm sure sometimes she wishes that were the case."

"What, then?"

"I can't tell you."

Matthew just stared in disbelief.

"Really, Sybil? After all the conversations we've had, after all the secrets I've kept for you, and you still won't trust me with something like this that could very well make things right with Mary and me?"

Sybil bit her lip anxiously. She wanted to tell Matthew because she knew it wouldn't bother him, and then he could tell Mary so and they would be married. But she had promised Mary, and her morals screamed against it. But if it made Mary happy too, then really, what did she have to worry about? Her sister surely wouldn't mind her telling her secret when she got a marriage out of it.

"Alright, I'll tell you. But you don't say a word to anybody about it, and you certainly don't ever tell Mary that I was the one who told you."

"I swear it."

Sybil nodded, then began "Does the name Kemal Pamuk ring any bells in your mind?"

Matthew paused. "Somewhere, but I can't quite place..."

"He was the Turkish gentleman who died in our house."

"Oh yes, I remember now. What about him?"

"Well..."


	6. Lady Mary, Quite Contrary

**_Lady Mary, Quite Contrary_**

**_Turkish diplomat died in the bed of Earl's unmarried daughter_**

_A man dying in the bed of an unmarried woman will always be a scandalous affair. However, when that man is Mr. Kemal Pamuk, Turkish diplomat, and that woman is Lady Mary Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham, it is even more so. Lady Mary Crawley has been held in high esteem by many for her beauty, wit and impeccable manners and taste. However, it seems that her tastes are not quite so impeccable as the world had once thought..._

_This outrageous breach of propriety occurred almost 7 years ago, back in the latter months of 1912. Lady Mary had first met the young, handsome ambassador that day as they were both hunting on her father's estate in honour of mutual acquaintance, Mr. Evelyn Napier. How, you might ask, does a perfectly innocent hunting party lead to such a sordid act? The answer lies in the character of Lady Mary, once supposed without blemish, now finally brought to light as the most indecent, immoral_

And it was at that point that Matthew threw down the newspaper. He simply couldn't bear to read anymore. His head was spinning.

"What is it?" his mother asked him.

He was about to say "Nothing" out of habit, but checked himself. What was the point? The rest of the world would know. At least his mother had never been a particularly judgemental person.

He pushed the newspaper across to her.

"Read it." He was grim-faced.

Isobel read the first few lines, and looked up at her son.

"I'm sorry. I can see this has upset you. At least it explains why Cousin Cora was so keen to send Mary to America."

"Hmmm," was Matthew's only reply.

In truth, he didn't know what to think. Of course, Sybil had told him about Mary and Pamuk a month earlier, on the day of his second failed marriage proposal. And it was true, at first it had upset him. He had lain awake at night, picturing Mary lying in the arms of someone else, and it almost broke his heart. Almost. The only thing that stopped it was what Sybil had said to him, as soon as the first shock was over: that Mary might have been foolish, but she loved Matthew now. He had to hold on to the fact that she loved him. He was hurt that someone else had come before him, and he even felt disappointed and angry. But the image that kept returning to him was that of Mary crying outside the library window, Mary cold and vulnerable. He couldn't stop imagining her carrying the dead body of her lover halfway across the house. He remembered how hard it was to see a man, dead and cold, a man who was alive only moments before, and it hurt him to think of Mary going through that pain. It hurt him to think of her on the long sea voyage to America, probably very frightened (after all, her cousin had drowned on a similar voyage only 7 years before), but equally as terrified of what was going on at home, knowing that everyone she had ever known would be sneering at her for a mistake she had made so long ago. But what had hurt him the most was that she had thought he would be one of those who would turn up his nose at her, and refuse to having anything to do with her. It was ridiculous; didn't she trust him? Didn't she know that he would love her no matter what she had done?

Matthew stood abruptly. Isobel looked up from the newspaper.

"I'm going for a walk," he said brusquely.

"All right." Isobel was wary. Matthew's face softened.

"Don't worry, Mother. I'll be back in an hour or so; I just need to get some air. And talk to Sybil, perhaps."

Talking to Sybil had become Matthew's main solace. She was such a peaceful person; and she was always helpful and willing to talk.

He met her in the village. She was about to walk back to the house, and he offered to walk with her so that they could talk.

"I suppose you saw the newspapers this morning?" Sybil questioned, tilting her head to look at him.

"Yes," he sighed. "Some of the names they were calling her really are quite vicious."

"I know, it's horrible." There was a pause. "Papa is furious. He was especially shocked when he realised Mama already knew. And myself and Edith too, of course. He couldn't believe we'd all been keeping it from him. Even Granny knew, and never told him. Don't tell him you knew, or he'll never forgive you. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry."

Matthew pulled a face. "I think I'll avoid him for a while."

"That might be wise."

Moments passed, the two of them strolling companionably side by side. Suddenly, Sybil stopped and turned to him, scrutinising his face.

"What is it?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

She smiled at whatever she could see, and patted his arm. "You seem better, that's all."

"Better?"

"Yes. Less... melancholy than you have been."

"Well," Matthew shrugged, smiling back, "nothing's changed. I still want to marry her. I suppose I was a little upset with the idea of it for a while, but I've come to the realisation that it hasn't changed a thing. As soon as she returns from America, I'm going to propose again, and hopefully she'll say yes this time."

"She will," Sybil told him with confidence. "It was only ever Pamuk holding her back. Now you know about that, she will say yes."

"I hope you're right, because I doubt I'll have the strength to survive a third rejection." He smiled weakly at her, before changing the subject. "Have you decided what to do about Branson yet?"

He expected Sybil to sigh, say no and change the subject, the way she always did whenever he introduced Branson into the conversation. However, this time she merely bit her lip, and he could see a twinkle in her eye.

"You have decided! You're going to say yes, aren't you?"

She nodded, and he beamed at her. Then an anxious look crossed his face, as he asked tenderly, "Sybil, forgive me, but you do love him, don't you? You are quite sure?"

Sybil looked at him. "Yes. I can't stop thinking about him. I think of every other man I know, and then I think of him, and I know that I would never be able to marry any other man. There is no other man as right for me as he is." She sighed. "Of course, there's still the problem of my family. They're not going to like it at all."

"Well, you know you've got me on your side. And to be perfectly honest, after the current scandal, surely it won't seem like such a big problem?"

"I wouldn't count on that. An Earl's daughter marrying the family chauffeur? It'll only add to the scandal. Just think, two daughters dishonouring the family name. Edith will be the virtuous one. I'm sure she'll love that."

There was a choked sound from behind them, that could have been a laugh or a sob; and they both turned, startled, and stared back at Edith. Both Sybil and Matthew felt a pang of fear that she had overheard certain parts of their conversation, but Sybil thought not. The only thing that usually penetrated Edith's consciousness was Edith.

"I'm not virtuous at all," she told them. Tears were pouring down her face now, like rain. "How do you think the papers know about Mary and Pamuk? It's my fault. I wrote a letter to the Turkish Ambassador, and told him. It's all my fault."

Sybil stared, open-mouthed, at her sobbing sister. She didn't remember ever having seen Edith cry before. She draped an arm around her heaving shoulders.

"Edith, it wasn't you," she told her gently.

"Of course it was! Who else knew?" Edith's question was entirely rhetorical, but Sybil knew who it was. She had seen the signature at the bottom of that spiteful letter that Mary had received.

"Vera Bates."

"Who?!"

"Vera Bates. Mr. Bates' wife."

"Papa's valet? What would his wife know of it?"

"I don't know," Sybil said honestly. "But about a month ago, Mary had a letter from her saying that she had sold the story to Carlisle and was going to use it to ruin her."

Matthew was appalled. "But why?"

"I believe she is... estranged from Mr. Bates and wants to have her revenge on him by bringing shame upon the house he works for, or something to that effect. I don't think it's anything personal against Mary. Not that that makes it any better," she added. "But trust me, Edith, it wasn't you."

Edith heaved a sigh that seemed to shake her very bones, and gulped back a final sob. "I still can't help but feel somewhat responsible."

"It was a mistake you made long ago. Apologise to Mary when she returns and I'm sure she'll accept your apology; after all, she knows all about mistakes. And don't worry, it'll all come right in the end."

Matthew looked at Sybil curiously. "You really believe that?"

"We have to believe it," she told him, "otherwise what's the point of anything?"

And both Matthew and Edith had to concede that she was probably right.


End file.
